


Shift

by mylittleredgirl



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:07:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylittleredgirl/pseuds/mylittleredgirl
Summary: How John learns that Elizabeth loves him.





	Shift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nhawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhawk/gifts), [Peanutbutterer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peanutbutterer/gifts).

> nhawk found this long lost prompt fill in the Sparktober archives. 'tis the season!

After the second-longest shower of his life (the first-longest being 14 hours earlier, directly after being released from post-mission checkup in the infirmary), John bypasses the mess hall and heads straight for his office. He normally aims to spend as little time there as possible, since his office is for administrative tasks like schedules and performance evaluations that are tedious and... administrate-y. There are no major deadlines looming, and he’s not all that keen to wade through his email backlog, but since his office is the most boring place in Atlantis, there’s almost no chance that anyone will stop by to hang out.  
  
It feels like there’s still mud in his ears, and maybe some got up into his sinuses. The hive ship took off from that planet before their explosives even went off, and he’s not in the mood to high-five people over oatmeal when everything still smells like dirt. Last night at dinner, it seemed like everyone in Atlantis passed his table to slap him on the back, congratulating him like the mission was a success. He was completely _un_-successful as far as the original objectives went, but he came back through the Stargate alive, and apparently that’s enough now. If he’d made it onto that ship before it took off, he could have done _something_ to keep them on the ground until the charges blew. He could have done more, at least, than sitting here waiting to hear about the next culling.  
  
He’s using the edge of his knife to pick mud out from under his fingernails when Elizabeth comes in without knocking, holding up her tablet. “We need to talk about this.”  
  
It’s her serious voice, the one where emotion is bubbling just below the surface. Coupled with the way her brow is furrowed, it foreshadows the kind of conversation he doesn’t have the energy for the day after so close a call. Anytime the tide of the war turns against them, one of the worst parts is telling her about it. She rallies fast, with a determined set of her jaw and optimistic words, but the way her face falls before she has the chance to cover it up hits him like a sucker punch. Some days he chickens out and tells her bad news by email. “I sent you my report. Teyla’s going to New Athos today to have them contact their trading partners in the area about the threat. It probably won’t be too long until we find out what direction the hive ship is headed.”  
  
“I read your report.” That’s all she says. Her arms cross, pressing the tablet into her chest.  
  
Her usual M.O. for starting an argument involves a lot more words, so he suggests, “If you want me to edit something–”  
  
She’s almost vibrating with unshed energy. “For God’s sake, John, I didn’t come down here to correct your punctuation.”  
  
He pokes his finger too hard with the tip of his knife, drawing a dot of blood. He sets it down and then takes a stab at what’s pissing her off: “It was my call. It happened fast, Elizabeth, and the others were already through the wormhole. I had one chance to follow that Wraith to the ship.”  
  
“So your team comes through the Stargate without you, and all we get is a radio order not to go back for you.”  
  
He didn’t think at the time about how that might have landed, because he was fucking _busy_. Since he got back he’s been mostly concerned with getting mud off of him and being pissed off that they still have a new hive ship to worry about, so apologies haven’t been high on his list of priorities. “That would just have put other people at risk.”  
  
“Stop acting like you don’t matter.”  
  
It’s bad enough when Caldwell critiques his strategic decisions. Elizabeth’s supposed to back him up, dammit, and that’s probably why he raises his voice: “The tactical risk of putting additional personnel into a situation like–”  
  
“_No_.” Elizabeth slices her hand through the air between them, shutting him up, and repeats, word by word: “Stop acting like _you_ don’t matter.”  
  
Caldwell never looks at him like _that_. John’s heart speeds up, and it’s difficult to breathe in a way that has nothing to do with the mud he inhaled on that Wraith-infested planet. Something is happening here between them, and he isn’t sure what it is, but her eyes are welling up and he doesn’t know if he should hug her or back away until she gets herself under control, because this isn’t like her. He rises halfway from his office chair. “Elizabeth?”  
  
She shakes her head and doesn’t say anything. Elizabeth, the Elizabeth he knows, Elizabeth until this very moment is _never_ speechless. For a long minute, he hovers at his desk between sitting and standing and watches her fight to collect herself.  
  
She asks, voice thick, “Do you _get it_?”  
  
There’s a tightness in his throat he can’t swallow, and there’s too much in his head—Afghanistan and his father and Athos and what should have been a _decision_ when he saw the opportunity to chase after the Wraith but was just instinct and habit and how he accepted a long time ago that when he dies, it will be alone.  
  
He says, “A hive ship would have been worth it.” There’s no way she can argue that, but he doesn’t really want this to be an argument. The last time someone looked at him the way she’s doing now it was _his wife_ at the departure gate sending him off to war.  
  
He imagines coming home _to Elizabeth_, having that promise tugging against his instincts when he’s running toward a hive ship parked on explosives, and if he were as impulsive here as he was on that planet he’d cross his office, run right past everything he can’t say and to hell with their responsibilities and he’d take her to bed like that will solve their problems.  
  
They’ve flirted for years, but this—this isn’t flirting.  
  
She says, “I’m counting on you to come home.”  
  
Elizabeth knows too much to be fooled, so he lets her statement hang there between them, full of promises he can’t make.  
  
She’s the first to move, glancing behind her at the door. He feels twin urges to keep her near him and to retreat into himself until he figures out how he feels and what this changes.  
  
“It’s pizza night.” He feels his ears heat the moment his non sequitur hits the air, but his mouth keeps tangling him up: “They’re showing a Western in the lounge, but I was thinking of, if it’s a nice night...” He releases a breath, remembering it’s _Elizabeth_ just in time to keep from completely embarrassing himself. He shakes his head and gives her half a smile. “Join me for a walk tonight?”  
  
They do that sometimes, after close calls or bad news, and yesterday’s mission was both. It doesn’t have to feel different, but it does.  
  
She nods. She’s put together again, Elizabeth the fearless leader, but there’s a soft warmth in her voice when she says: “I’ll be there.”  
  
He can’t promise everything, but this, he can. He might even get up the courage to take her hand. “So will I.”


End file.
